


Never Painless, Always Shameless (on hold)

by styles_allure



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Louis, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Fluff, Gay Sex, Graphic Description, Illegal Activities, M/M, Minor Character Death, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sassy Louis, Shameless, Smut, Top Harry, Violence, Weapons, a lot of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 13:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9821732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/styles_allure/pseuds/styles_allure
Summary: Louis has no sympathy for others, no filter, and no will to get involved in anything that won't make him money.Harry has a lot more going on than meets the eye.Two boys from the south-side collide and the outcome is messy, dirty, painful, and fun. But most of all, it's shameless.





	1. The Rich and The Poor

“We have a spare bedroom, all hardwood floors, fresh paint, the only thing you need to do is bring a bed.” Louis’ half paying attention, half focusing on the cleanliness of the apartment. He got kicked out of his house a few weeks ago, so this place is like a five star hotel compared to the local gym locker room. He was sold the minute he saw the ad, but he’s not going to let them know that, not if he can haggle the price just a little bit. 

“Is the three hundred a month firm?” Louis asks, eyes skimming over the slick granite counter tops, darkened cabinets. The kitchen is beautiful. The whole place is beautiful. Louis looks at the blonde, and cocks a brow. 

“If you could cover some utilities, we could do two.” 

Louis pretends to mull it over for just a minute, lips pursed and eyes trained to the floor. If there’s anything that growing up broke teaches you, it’s how to fake it till you make it. Two hundred for a high rise apartment in the center of Los Angeles is pretty damn good, but he faux-considers for a few more seconds before nodding, “I think we can make that work.” 

He doesn’t know why he said ‘we,’ but he doesn’t correct himself. The blonde boy gives Louis a small smile, the other bulkier lad gives a curt nod. “We have a deal?” He stretches his hand out. 

“That we do, mate.” Louis breaks into the first smile, grabbing his hand and pressing a firm shake, “Liam, was it?” 

“Yeah. Liam,” He points to his chest, “and this is Niall.” The blonde shyly waves and makes his way into the luxury kitchen. “How soon can you move in? The other occupant is kind of flaky, we never know when he’s gonna be here, we could really use the money.” 

“Tonight?” Louis says a bit too quickly, back pedaling to lower the urgency in his voice. He has to pretend like he belongs with the most elite, rich, privileged people here, “Or maybe this weekend, I’ll have to double check.” 

“Tonight works for us if that works for you.” Liam says, nonchalant as he wads a slice of bread into a ball, throwing it into his mouth. Louis fights back the confusion that’s probably blatant on his face, because who does that? Who rolls their bread into a ball before eating it? Anyway. 

The whole apartment smells like Gucci cologne and laundry detergent. It’s a welcome change from the sweat drenched tanks that litter the locker room floor at the gym over on Fourth. Luckily, Louis has a talent for shutting off certain senses so that he doesn’t have to constantly fight back a gag at the salty smell. 

Not to sound completely conceded, Louis had to admit that he’s pulled off this whole ‘I can totally afford a Benz if I want, my dad wouldn’t even have to cover the payments’ look. Nice, stain-free teal t-shirt, jeans with the holes purposefully ripped (that’s a lie, he fell trying to walk a straight line while being a bit tipsy) and brand new shoes. No one in this upper class neighborhood would even guess that he grew up in a one bedroom shack shared by three other kids. Coked up kids, who tried to steal everything that wasn’t nailed to the floor and sell it. 

Once, Louis came home from work with his most recent paycheck, pleased to say that he could pitch in for the electric bill that month. Unfortunately, one of the shady neighbors convinced his half brother that the government watched them through their TV. So, he did what any sensible sixteen year old would do, he smashed it with a cement brick. Fucking yeah. So he bought a new TV instead, letting their father take the other bills. If they didn’t have the escape of some fake television world, they’d all kill each other. Louis wasn’t ready to die just yet. 

“It’s a nice view.” Louis breathes against the glass of the window. The view stretched over miles, building tops barely breaking the blanket of clouds. If he tried really hard, he could feel like he was actually flying. 

“You should see the sunset, it’ll blow your mind.” Niall (that’s the blonde, right?) says from behind him. Louis half jumps, blinking back before giving Niall a grimace, “You’re like a fucking ghost. How’d you even get there?” 

“I walked.” Niall shrugs, Louis rolls his eyes. 

“I actually think I will move in tonight.” Louis finally agrees, flipping his phone around in his left hand. The feeling of a mattress beneath his body compared to a wooden bench is too tempting for him to pass up, even if it does make him look desperate. He doesn’t care, it’s been too long since he’s slept through the whole night. He wants to wake up to that sunset view. 

Lately, he’s been waking up to the sweet view of wrinkled balls, which isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds. Old men just don’t give a fuck, it’s dicks out twenty-four seven. Like, its called modesty, for fucks sake. 

“My cousin lives just down the road, he’s actually selling a memory foam mattress if you’re interested.” 

“I already have one,” Louis lies. 

“Memory foam?” 

“Well, no, but-“ 

“Then you need one. I’ll tell him to drive it over, yeah?” 

Louis swallows back any instant, rude remark that’s sure to poke out from the back of his throat. He tries to keep his voice light, like a joke, “You’re a pushy one, aren’t you?” 

“Just eager for you to go ahead and move in so that Liam can stop bitching about the bills.” Niall laughs, plopping down the couch and cracking open a beer, letting his Irish heritage peak out, “I’ll give him the money and you can pay me back later if you want.” 

“Don’t sound so desperate,” Louis laughs, but it sounds more like a scoff, “That’s fine, tell him to go ahead and bring it.” Louis agrees, knowing damn well that he’s not going to pay Niall back for that damn memory foam mattress. 

 

**

 

 

The bed is the best fake investment Louis has ever made, feels like he’s laying on a cloud. His bones ache, still feeling the uncomfortable pressure of the wooden rickets digging into his side, trying it’s best to stab him in the ribcage. Some nights, Louis would wake up in the middle of the night, feeling like he got shot in the side when he could barely feel anything but the pain in his ribs. “Just kill me already,” He’d plead to the bench, “Fucking Christ.” 

His room is bigger than the house he grew up in. The floors are pristine, the walls are perfectly painted in a clean beige. Liam told him that he could decorate it anyway he liked, but Louis likes it just like this. He likes that it doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke, and that it doesn’t have tiny black holes in the furniture. He likes that it’s neutral, and there aren’t any disgusting lights that (aren’t) growing weed. He likes that he can move freely around his bed without worrying about waking someone up or having an elbow shoved in his mouth. 

Yes, there have been multiple nights in Louis’ childhood that he woke up to a random body part being shoved promptly where it doesn’t belong. A knee, a shoulder, a toe, whatever. 

The ceiling fan sends a cool breeze, but the noise is even better. It’s calming. There’s no sounds blaring out the window. Liam, Niall and mystery roommate are rich enough to afford thick, noise canceling windows. Louis grabs his blanket, hugging it to his chest and taking a deep breath. He’s sure that he’s going to absolutely love it here. 

Unfortunately, that thought didn’t last long. 

The sound of a door swinging open causes him to jump, his hand automatically reaching for the pillow before he realizes that there’s not a gun under there. Thumping echoes in the walls, and Louis’ on his feet within seconds. There’s nothing in his room that’s going to deter a burglar. Panic sets in just a bit, but he’s able to breathe and calm himself down. Think rationally. They’ll go for the expensive items first, like the TV or any gaming consoles. Electronics. They’ll weave in and out of the main rooms before going into the bedrooms.

Back when Louis was fourteen, a pair of idiot wannabe robbers broke into his house (shack, more like) thinking they’d get away with anything that had a value over three dollars. Wrong, oh man were they fucking wrong. The only thing worth stealing was the television that Louis mounted onto the wall himself with a drill gun. Though, in his adolescent youth, holding a .44 magnum aimed directly at one of their heads was quite dignifying. They scrambled like chickens out the door. It was hilarious. But, anyway. 

If someone is robbing an apartment, they’re not looking for a confrontation, they’re looking for an easy buck. 

He listens through the door, why haven’t Niall and Liam gotten the fuck up? Does this happen often? Do people get robbed nightly here? Not likely, Louis decides, clenching his jaw and placing a steady hand on the doorknob. 

A loud bang hits just on the other side of the door, and Louis' fists naturally clench tight, his whole body going rigid, “Fuck, yes.” Someone breathes, “Oh, God.” 

Louis entire face twists into disgust, and his mouth drops open as he flings the door open. The girl who was being pressed against the other side falls in, landing directly at Louis’ feet. Her face is covered in a sheen layer of sweat, beaming red, her eyes are glazed over. The boy on top of her is no different, black jeans pooled around his ankles and his hair a wild mess. 

“What the fuck are you doing.” Louis says, not asks, his face the embodiment of ‘done.’ 

“Who are you?” The messy-haired boy questions, his green eyes alight with pure confusion. 

“You’re actually trying to fuck someone against my bedroom door at,” Louis looks at the clock on the wall, “Three in the morning, and you think you can ask _me_ questions?”  

“Your bedroom? Since when?” The two are just laying there, the boy positioned awkwardly between the girl’s legs. They’re both looking up at Louis, and he just stares blankly back. 

“Since today.” Louis answers, backing away and kicking a pair of lace thongs from in front of his foot, “So, can you maybe, I don’t know, go fuck somewhere else? Since I’m actually trying to sleep.” 

“They got a new roommate without asking me?” The kid asks himself. The girl awkwardly runs her hand through her hair, pushing the sweaty bangs back away from her face. 

“Hate to break it to ya,” Louis shrugs, padding the girl’s shoulder with his foot, nudging her away from the door. He ignores the look of disgust she throws at him, “But yeah, they did. Now, if you could just-“

“Fucking assholes.” 

“Look, I really don’t care about whatever feud you and the other two guys have here, but if you could kindly move you, your girl, and do this elsewhere, that’d be just dandy.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He snarls, jerking to stand up, pulling the half dressed girl with him. Louis keeps his face neutral, almost bored looking, “I don’t even fucking know you.” 

“I’m Louis, I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but it was kind of weird considering you were just balls deep in some chick, keeping me from my peaceful slumber.”  

“I never said I wanted to know you,” The boy fires back, his voice graveled with annoyance. Louis blinks, not changing his expression. Though, he will say the kid is hot, whoever he is. His eyes are a blazing green, framed in thick lashes, hair in messy curls pushed away from his face. Tattoos are swirled up his left arm, his body lean and slim. Louis’ become a pro at checking people out without them even realizing it. It’s a great skill to have, really. 

Louis gives them both a fake, exaggerated smile, leaning his head to the side before flicking the door closed. On the other side he can hear the girl mumbling about how “totally, like, awkward that was.” 

And, yeah, how totally awkward that was, indeed. 

He doesn’t give it anymore thought while sliding back into his bed, pulling the covers back up to his chest and curling onto his side. After a few minutes, the only sound he can hear is the swooshing of the air from the blade of the ceiling fan. Eventually, his eyes grow tired and his mind becomes blurry with random visions and memories. Before he knows it, he’s fast asleep. Finally. 

 

**

 

The sun comes up too soon, and Louis stuffs his head under the pillow to block out the light streaming through the thin curtains. He makes a mental note to buy thicker ones from the store. Or steal them, whatever. 

After about half an hour of tossing and turning, he finally gives up with a loud huff, tossing the blanket to the side and slamming his feet down onto the hardwood floors. They’re cold, but for some reason Louis likes that. He mumbles incoherent words as he shuffles into the bathroom across the hall, tuning out the sound of Niall and Liam being loud as fuck in the kitchen. The smell of coffee is practically orgasmic, so that makes the morning just a bit better. 

“Louis!” An Irish accent booms through the hall, and Louis winces in the general direction. He doesn’t respond. 

“You want some eggs? Bacon?” 

With a hoarse, croak of a voice Louis yells back what is supposed to be a “Yeah, sure,” But sounds more like a “Yehso.” 

Once he walks into the kitchen, the bright light makes him wonder what these people have against curtains. Or what he has against the sun. Liam’s brows go up, like he’s expecting Louis to say something. It’s an awkward as fuck pause, and Louis just widens his eyes, shaking his head, “Y’got something to say?” 

“Heard that you met Harry last night.” 

“If he was the one fucking a girl against my door, then yeah, I unfortunately did.” Louis responds, watching the plate intently as Niall slides it across the counter. His stomach flips, he can’t even remember the last time he’s had a warm breakfast. Protein bars from the vending machine don’t make for the most appetizing first meal of the day. And also the most important meal of the day? Louis thinks he’s heard that somewhere. 

“You’ll have to get used to that,” Liam laughs, and Louis snorts, before realizing that Liam’s not joking. With a mouth full of scrambled eggs, Louis goes deadpan, “You’re serious?” 

“Serious as a heart attack.” 

“Fuck.” He breathes, just quiet enough for only himself to hear. To be quite honest, waking up to the sound of people banging isn’t nearly as bad as sweaty old men chatting up the locker room. He can’t complain, it could be much worst. But, Louis can’t pretend like he’s not just the slightest bit annoyed that his little slice of heaven is ruined by a roommate who doesn’t understand privacy, or boundaries. 

“Harry is an acquired taste.” Niall chimes in, munching a slice of bacon. 

“Seemed like that girl really liked it. Who is she anyway, his girlfriend?” 

Niall and Liam break out in a laugh, the sound makes Louis’ head hurt. It feels like he’s just said some sacred inside joke, and he has no idea what the fuck is so funny. He presses his lips together and waits for the laughter to subside before saying anything, “Am I missing something?”

“He doesn’t have girlfriends, he has hookups.” Liam says, and Niall nods behind him. 

“Classy.” 

And just like he was summoned by whatever depth of hell he crawled out of, Harry appears in the frame of the hallway. The expression on his face is less than amused. Louis doubts he actually heard any of the conversation, considering his eyes are barely open and he looks like he’s just taken one too many Xanax and has no idea where he is. He stumbles over to the cabinet, grabbing a massive mug and pouring coffee till it reaches the rim. 

The room suddenly smells like a mix of Smirnoff and regret. It’s like Harry’s pores are leaking alcohol. “Morning sunshine.” Niall welcomes him, who promptly ignores him. 

The rooms falls silent and a blanket of awkward falls like a cloud of vapor all around them. Kind of like when you walk into the wrong room at a funeral home and no one says anything because they’re too busy crying, so you just back away and pretend like nothing ever happened. Louis does just that, flopping down from the bench and grabbing one last piece of bacon before wordlessly leaving the room and heading back towards his bedroom. 

After the door closes, he jumps a little too excitable onto his bed and grabs his phone from the nightstand. He pulls up his recent contacts, choosing the first number that comes up. 

“Hello?” His boss, Mike, answers. The sound of a jack hammer from behind him makes Louis jerk the phone away from his ear. 

“Hey, was just seeing if you had any new jobs open?” 

“Uhm,” There’s a brief silence, Louis raised his brows. “Got a house over on Second street that needs someone to dig a hole, about three feet deep, and then drive a moving truck to a warehouse.” 

“What’re they trying to bury?” Louis asks, leaning till he’s laying on the bed. It’s just so damn comfortable. 

“Mostly drugs.” 

“Great.” 

“The moving truck is transporting boxes though, mostly just stuff they need to sell.” 

“You mean stuff they stole and need to get rid of.” Louis clarifies, earning a small laugh from the other end of the line, “pretty much. But it pays good, a few hundred.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“I’ll tell them you’ll be there around four in the afternoon tomorrow?” 

“Are you an idiot? It’ll look fucking suspicious if I’m digging holes in the afternoon. I’ll come around three in the morning, that’s when the police department has their officers switch shifts.” It baffles Louis how stupid Mike can be at times. You can’t do illegal shit without knowing how to prevent getting caught. The job is worth the few hundred, but it’s not worth going to jail. 

“Okay, fine.” 

“Text me the address.” Louis says, hitting the button on his phone and ending the call. He grabs a pair of unwashed jeans from the floor, then a shirt that he has to smell first before he deems it worthy of putting on and wearing. 

When he walks back into the kitchen, Liam, Niall and Harry are in the middle of an argument, which makes Louis want to high tail it out the front door. But, he hears his name, so he plops back down on the chair and puts his interlocked hands on the table. “Am I disrupting you gentlemen?” 

“We don’t need your permission, Harry, you don’t own this apartment.” Liam continues, not acknowledging Louis’ existence. He shrugs that off. 

“I pay the bills here, too.” Harry responds. He’s leaning against the stove, holding the coffee mug and looking actually kind of hot. His sweatpants are draped low on his hips, showing another tattoo, and his eyes are a burning red, which just makes the green look even greener. It’s a shame that he’s kind of an ass, because Louis’ never seen anyone so blatantly attractive in his life. “You didn’t even fucking ask me.” 

His curse word makes Louis’ stomach tight. 

“We don’t have to. You use this place as your hook-up spot and that’s about it. You have your own bedroom, we had a spare. We need the money, end of discussion.” 

“If you’re upset that I won’t let you bang people against my door, I’m happy to inform you that there are about eight other doors in this house that you could use instead.” Louis interjects, tilting his head to the side and giving Harry a small smile. Harry’s eyes are rock hard, staring directly into Louis’ soul. He might actually hate Louis. 

“Who was talking to you?” 

“Sorry, thought this was an open discussion. Did I need your permission?” Louis asks, his voice a complete mockery of actual curiosity, “because it doesn’t seem like anyone here really needs to consult you about anything.” 

Harry’s jaw tenses, his eyes even more intense on Louis. He just gives Harry another smile, batting his lashes and hopping delicately off the stool. Liam is stifling a laugh as Louis slips on his shoes, bouncing on one foot towards the door. 

“I’m going to go buy some curtains,” Louis yells back into the kitchen, popping his head around the corner to give Harry another innocent look, “Y’know, if that’s okay with you?” 

Harry’s chest rises and his his lips pull into a snarl. Louis doesn’t give him time to respond before sauntering out the door, pulling up the nearest Target on Google maps, twirling his car keys around his index finer. 

You know, living here might just be Louis’ favorite thing after all. 


	2. It's Worth the Money

“You’re gonna get your ass caught,” Mike says, inhaling a long drag from a cigarette and motioning towards the curtains draped over Louis’ shoulder, “jail ain’t fun, especially when you look like that.”   
   
“Like what?”   
   
“Pretty boy face, criminals love that shit.”  
   
Louis laughs, rolling his eyes and adjusting the new curtains on his other shoulder. They’re a burgundy color, thick enough to shelter him from the beaming morning light but thin enough to make him not seem like a fucking vampire. The stores in the area should know better by now than to even let Louis through the door. And if they do, then hey, everything is fair game. It just sucks to be on the losing team. Poor, poor Target.  
   
He’s meeting with Mike to go over the specifics of the next job he’s going to do. It’s not the first drug burial he’s done and it definitely won’t be the last, it doesn’t make it any less risky though, that’s for damn sure. The neighborhood is horrible, they might come across a dead body, and they might take a bullet or two. The payout makes all that shit worth it, eight hundred fucking dollars for digging a hole? Count Louis in. Always count Louis in.   
   
“How’d you even steal those?” Mike asks, seemingly impressed look on his face.   
   
“Why do you assume I stole them? I live in a high rise, maybe I bought them.” Louis holds his hand out, waiting for Mike to pass over the cigarette. The smoke is thick and hot going down his throat, and he can feel it killing his lungs by the second. He blows out a dark cloud between sarcastic laughs.   
   
“Did you put it on your new platinum card?”   
   
“I’m not a credit bitch, I pay in cash.”   
   
“You don’t have any cash, Louis.” Mike pulls the cigarette from Louis’ hand and gives him a teasing smile, “that’s what I’m here for.”   
   
“I keep you around for the company.”  
   
“Sure, sure.”   
   
“So,” Mike raises his voice, straightening out his posture. Louis mirrors him and patiently waits for him to continue. “There’s a small amount of cocaine. Neighbors tipped off the police about the home owners selling it. Basically they need you to bury it in the yard a pretty good ways from the house, so that when the search happens, theres no drugs to be found. Like, poof, magic.”   
   
“Won’t the drug dogs smell it?”   
   
“Not our problem. You still get paid wether they get busted or not.”  
   
Louis nods, pursing his lips. He doesn’t actually believe the police are going to search the house. They probably owe a shit ton of drugs, money or both to some people you don’t want to be in debt to. So, instead of moving the product, they’re having someone bury it, that way when the debt collector comes, theres no product to take. Someone will probably get shot, blood is a bitch to get out of clothes, Louis’ just thankful he’ll be outside the entire time.   
   
“This new place is sick, I feel like I’m living in the lap of luxury.”   
   
“You like the other boys?”   
   
“Two are cool, look like frat boys. The other one is an asshole, he’s my favorite.”   
   
Mike’s brows furrow and his lips pull into a smile, “Your favorite is the asshole?”   
   
“He’s fun to fuck around with,” Louis shrugs, “And not in the sexy way, more like the ‘pester him till he hates his life,’ kind of way.”   
   
“You two belong together, then.”   
   
Louis snorts out a laugh, picturing the snarl on Harry’s face and the way his eyes showed all the ways he wanted to beat Louis into the ground. Instead of drawling the conversation on any longer, Louis kicks his shoe over the gravel rocks, holding his hand out to take the last of the cigarette.   
   
“I’ll let you know how the first half of the job goes, have your phone on you at around six tomorrow morning, okay?”   
   
“Going to get some sleep?” Mike asks while Louis walks away, the smoke from the cigarette flutters around his eyes, making them burn.   
   
“I’m gonna try.”   
   
He hears Mike utter something under his breath, probably just grumbling like most old men do. Louis’ shoes scraping against the concrete makes the walk back to his car a little less quiet. The area that he meets Mike is always so quiet, as most ally ways are. Yeah, he knows it’s sketchy as fuck, but what they do is sketchy as fuck, so. It makes sense in Louis’ head.   
   
The air is brutally cold and whipping around, making crazy whistling noises that kind of sound like a woman screaming. The streets are empty, save for the occasional walker by who makes sure to check over their shoulder every five seconds.   
   
“You have to be kidding me.” Louis says, under his breath when he sees the bright piece of paper shoved in between his windshield wipers and his windshield. He still hasn’t paid off his other parking tickets, because fuck parking tickets. It’s like the police follow him around and wait for him to park illegally so that they can force him to pay more money. Fuck that. Fuck them.  
   
He rips the paper away, tearing it to shreds and holding his hand out, letting the tiny pieces flutter with the direction of the wind. He snarls at the ground for a few seconds before looking around for any cop cars, rolling his eyes and jumping into the car.   
   
First thing he does when he sits in the drivers seat, is to check under it for his gun, make sure it’s still loaded.   
   
He can feel his phone vibrating in his back pocket, which is weird because the only person who ever calls him is Mike. He doesn’t recognize the number but answers it anyway, “Hello?”   
   
“Louis?” An Irish accent strikes immediately, and the mystery is solved.   
   
“How did you get my number, Niall?”   
   
“We’re having a few people over at the apartment tonight. Just some drinks and music, is that okay with you?” Niall avoids Louis’ question, and he wants to be annoyed by that but he’s more surprised that Niall actually called to ask Louis’ permission on having a party. He can’t help the smug smile that crosses his face.   
   
“I don’t care. I’m going to be leaving at around five in the morning, so.”   
   
“Why?”   
   
“None of your business,” Louis scoffs, keeping his tone light and playful, even though he means every word.   
   
“Fine, fine.” Niall sighs, “I”ll see you later.”   
   
“Okay.” Louis ends the conversation and the phone call.   
   
   
His car is in less than great condition. In fact, it’s barely running, but it gets him from point A to point B, so. And he got it for two hundred dollars, and it’s likely because the car was stolen, but he’ll take what he can get. It sure beats walking around in the cold and hoping he avoids catching something nasty like pneumonia. The car sputters, the check engine light is always on, and the tires are so bald they can pass for smooth rubber doughnuts.   
   
The inside is clean, thats one good thing. Louis keeps it nice, making up for the chipped paint and dents that are all over the sides.   
   
The engine makes an ugly grumbling sound when it takes off, reminds Louis of his grandpa, who was always grumbling things about being a war prisoner and having to cut off his own thumb. Basically, his car always sounds like its in a pissed off mood.   
   
He makes it about three miles, rounding the corner to the street his apartment is on. There’s about four other cars at the stoplight, and one stands out from the rest. It’s a rebuilt, junked up civic, surrounded by an Audi and a new style Chevy. He ducks his head, _fuck, fuck, fuck._    
   
The light is taking forever to fucking turn green, his car backfires and his teeth clench.   
   
“Tomlinson?” A dark voice yells from the civic. “Yeah,” The dude in the passenger seat glares over at Louis’ car, “Thats fucking him alright.”   
   
Louis takes a deep breath, composing his face before rolling his window down a little more and looking directly at Steven, the guy sitting in the drivers seat. He may or may not have accidentally stolen Steven’s Glock 40 and sold it for enough money to pay for gas. And his tv for rent. And his cigarette carton because Louis needed cigarettes, so. Yeah.   
   
“We can talk this out, like mature men, can’t we? You guys know what it’s-“   
   
A loud, metallic pang hits the car frame right beside Louis’ head, his reflexes kick and he jerks his head back, but doesn’t stop the flakes of metal from scraping across his cheek. Which hurt like bitch. “Did you really just fucking shoot at me? What the fuck?” Louis yells, throwing the car into reverse and hitting the car behind him, squealing the tires and making a sharp u-turn into oncoming traffic. The road isn’t too busy, so it’s not hard to dodge the cars.   
   
His fingers trace his face to wipe off the stream of blood. Steven’s car follows him closely, and one more bullet hits the back window, going through the passenger seat headrest.  
   
He takes a quick turn down a one way street, checking his rearview, barely seeing through the shattered glass that Steven’s car flies by, missing the turn. “Hah!” Louis laughs to himself, traveling further and easily maneuvering through back ally roads, “Fucking pricks. Better luck next time.”   
   
When he finally makes it to his apartment, he parks the car a good walking distance away so that the other guys don’t see it and get curious about what happened. He pulls his shirt off, wiping the blood and glass shards from his face and pants, tossing the soiled shirt into the trunk and grabbing a new, clean one. He has an abundance of clothes in the trunk, y’know, just in case.   
   
 

Niall greets him at the door as soon as he opens it, Louis blinks and takes a step around him, “Where have you been?”   
   
“Around.”   
   
“Doing what?”   
   
“Your fucking mom, none of your business.”   
   
“Good one, are you in middle school?” Niall laughs back, not at all affected by Louis’ bad attitude. He ignores the question, going to the kitchen and grabbing the stuff to make a ham sandwich, “you still having that party later?”   
   
“It’s not really a party, just a few people are gonna be coming.” Niall answers, sitting at the stool, “Can you make me one?”   
   
“No. After I leave I don’t want anyone in my room, that goes for Harry and his hook-up, too. Make sure you tell him that. If I find out that he fucked anyone in my bed, I’ll break his dick.”   
   
Niall laughs.   
   
“I’m not kidding.”   
   
“Okay, okay. I’ll tell him.” Niall’s hands fly up in defense, “Is that blood on your jeans?”   
   
“No.” Louis grabs his food and a beer from the fridge, leaving the stuff out so Niall can make his own damn sandwich, without another word he leaves the kitchen and swigs his drink, closing the door behind him with his foot.   
   
   
   
   
   
*  
   
   
   
   
   
   
“A few people,” Louis mumbled to himself, his face smeared with a look of disgust. He can hear people talking, laughing, jumping around just outside of his door. His alarm was set to thirty minutes after two, but he’s been awake since one because of how fucking loud they’re being. The beer on his nightstand is stale as fuck, but he finishes it anyway and throws on his jeans and shirt from earlier.   
   
The whole apartment is lit by what looks like neon lights accompanied by a black light. The blood on his jeans stands out like a beaming siren. He shoves though two people who’re shoving their tongue down each others throats and heads towards the fridge. It’s not hard to ignore the people who attempt to talk to him, the proposition for a threesome and some random dude whose hand just happened to brush Louis’ crotch.   
   
He thrusts his bag onto the counter, shoving a bag of Doritos and a pack of whatever cheap beer they have inside.   
   
“You pay for that?” A voice pipes up behind him. Louis knows it’s Harry because he sounds like he has a dick in his ass all the time. Louis looks at him for a quick second, zipping the bag up and throwing it over his shoulder.  
   
“I’m not in the mood to deal with you right now,” Louis pushes past him, but Harry’s shoulder is hard and stern, pushing him back. Louis’ brows shoot up, his face in awe at Harry’s audacity, “I’ve got somewhere to be.”   
   
“If you’re gonna make rules, then so am I.”   
   
Louis sighs, leaning against the counter, “Alright, lets get this over with.”   
   
“If you take food then you need to buy groceries sometime. We all do. We need a fair warning if you’re going to be bringing home anyone to bang-“  
   
“You don’t fucking do that,” Louis protests.  
   
“Yeah I do, I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be moved in without me knowing.” Harry responds easily before taking a breath and continuing, “Don’t puke in the living room, if you’re hungover stay near the bathroom, I’m not your mom and I’m not cleaning up after you.”  
   
Louis stares back at him, bored, taking a drink of whatever was in the cup was on the counter next to him. He’s more focused on Harry’s face than his words. He looks grumpy, his hair is messy, and Louis wants to kind of wants Harry to destroy him. Bend Louis over, pound him breathless. His black jeans are tight, his shirt sleeves are rolled up, tattoos on full display. Man, Louis _really_ wants to be fucked right now. He nods along, watching Harry’s jaw tense as he talks, uttering a “Yeah, okay,” every few words.   
   
“And we don’t keep big secrets,” Harry’s eyes darken and his head tilts to the side, making his posture a lot more intimidating, “I saw your car, and the bullet holes, don’t bring your illegal shit home, we don’t want any part of your fucking mistakes, got it?”   
   
“Let’s get one thing clear,” Louis tries to harden his look to match Harry’s, stepping so close that their breaths are bouncing off each other’s mouths. Louis’ lip is in a snarl, his eyes boring into Harry’s, “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, because you don’t control me. If you ever try to boss me around, I’ll knock the words right out of your fucking mouth. Got it?”   
   
There’s a thick, fuming silence in the space between them, the air is hot and their eyes haven’t moved, locked in a battle of who looks away first. Harry’s glare is so strong, so dominant that Louis can feel his own body getting weaker with every second. He finishes the cup of (probably) vodka and throws it in the sink, breaking eye contact and shoving past Harry, out the front door.   
   
He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek so hard that he can taste blood.   
   
The air is cold, so cold that it does a good job taking the anger from Louis and evaporating it. He composes his breathing, trying to keep calm. Mike said the place would have all the necessary tools, so Louis was to come empty handed and he wouldn’t have to worry about bringing his own shit. The house is about a ten minute drive, which is good considering he’s trying to hide his beat up car from the police and Steven. The house is run down, cardboard over the windows, broken fence around the overgrown yard.   
   
Someone moves the cardboard from the window and looks Louis over, he finally gives a nod, which Louis reciprocates before walking around to the backyard. There’s pounds and pounds of cocaine and a shovel thrown on the ground right next to it. Louis rolls his eyes and texts Mike a, “small amount?” before pulling off his shirt, wrapping it around the handle of the shovel and slamming the blade into the ground. The dirt is packed tightly and hard to shovel out, which means this shit is going to take longer than Louis originally thought.   
   
Every time a car drives by, Louis hides his face from the headlights and uses his body to block the hole he’s currently working on. Eventually the cars stop coming and the sky begins to look less black.   
   
   
   
   
   
*  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
It’s around seven in the morning before Louis kicks the bags into the hole and throws the dirt over it. He kept the top layer of grass intact so he could place it over the shoveled dirt and hide it, so it’d look undisturbed. A white cadillac pulls into the driveway, and Louis can hear a few men angrily talking as their boots hit the deck. He throws the shovel into the neighbors yard, after untying his shirt, and then hops the fence himself to find a different way back to his car. Thankfully, he parked it about a mile away, just in case something like this happened. Once out of earshot, he dials Mike’s number. He answers almost immediately.   
   
“Hey, how’d it go?”   
   
“Great,” Louis’ sarcasm is overpowered by sheer exhaust, “some guys showed up right when I was finished, you’re lucky I thought to get there earlier. Guess they weren’t expected the _cops_ ” fake emphasis on the word ‘cops’ “until later.”   
   
“So you’re done?”   
   
“Yeah.”   
   
“Good.”   
   
Louis' throat hurts, his arms and body are sore, the bag over his shoulder is empty except for one beer, which he pulls out and gulps down in a matter of seconds. “Steven shot at me yesterday.”   
   
“Why?”   
   
“Because I stole his shit and sold it.” Louis says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He told Mike back when he first did it, but Mike can’t even remember his own name half the time.   
   
“Are you surprised?” Mike laughs, “should’ve seen that coming from a mile away.”   
   
“He almost killed me.”   
   
“Then quit stealing.”   
   
“Whatever. I need your guy to fix my car again, he owes me.” Louis’ eyes scan the empty road for a red civic, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone out this early. Well, except the drug cartel, apparently.   
   
“Alright, I’ll call him later.” 

“Thanks,” Louis hangs up the phone, throwing it over into the passenger seat. He still parks pretty far from the apartment building just in case either Niall or Liam come out and see it. He’s hoping Harry kept his mouth shut about it, since he has no idea what even happened in the first place. Louis’ covered in dirt and sweat (maybe a little cocaine, because they won’t miss _one_ bag). But, with the amazing luck he seems to always have, Niall is awake and making breakfast in the kitchen when Louis gets there.   
   
“What the-“   
   
“Fuck off.”   
   
“You hungry?” Niall asks, trying not to eye Louis and how he looks like he just got done burying a body.   
   
“Starving, thanks man.”   
   
Niall cracks Louis an egg, pouring his a cup of coffee and sliding it over. It tastes like a liquid orgasm. “I overheard you talking to Harry last night, I’m sorry he can be kind of an ass, he grew up in the south-side, so it’s how he’s always been. Sounds like you handled it pretty well, though. We’re fine on groceries, with your rent it covers a lot of other bills, so me and Liam can handle the food.”   
   
“Wait,” Louis sets the mug down on the counter, gesturing for Niall to pour some more coffee, “He’s from the south-side?”   
   
“Yeah.”   
   
“No shit,” Louis says to himself, so quiet Niall doesn’t hear. Louis can say he’s genuinely surprised, “How’d he get to living here?” Of course, Louis’ from the south-side too, and he lives here, but Harry doesn’t seem like the type to lie like Louis did. He told them he was working at his father’s business, and that he grew up in one of the best neighborhoods in town. After all, there was no way he thought they’d agree with him moving in if they knew his past.   
   
“Told us he needed a place to live, we let him stay here until he could get on his feet, then he offered to start paying.”   
   
“And you just let him? You weren’t scared that he’d kill you in your sleep?” Louis laughs, drinking the second cup of coffee. Niall’s eyes are kind, and he just smiles back, “Where you come from doesn’t mean anything.”   
   
Louis nods, really listening to what Niall says, it’s the first time anyone has ever said that it didn’t matter where you grew up. Everyone knew when you grew up poor, what you had to live with, what you had to do for money, that they couldn’t trust you. Not that Louis blamed that mindset, he’s done more shit to people who didn’t deserve it than he can count.   
   
Niall’s brows furrowed, his lips pursed as he looked over at Louis, the brown, baked dirt all over his face and clothes, “What business did you say your dad ran again?”   
   
“Uh, construction.” Louis blinks, sliding the chair out, scarfing down the plate of eggs, and tossing his cup into the sink, “I’m gonna lay down for a bit, I’m fucking exhausted.”   
   
“Okay.”   
   
Louis gives Niall a small smile, which he returns, before heading back into his room and crawling into his bed. He doesn’t bother to shower, because he can hardly keep his eyes open and he might drown in there. Like turkeys, who sometimes drown because they look up when it’s raining. He’s just really, really tired. So tired, that with the sound of the fan and the warmth of the blankets, he falls asleep within seconds. 


End file.
